


Shattered

by Fuzzball457



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drunkenness, Stanford, drunken fights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 22:04:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuzzball457/pseuds/Fuzzball457
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was the first time that it was Dean searching the bar for Sam instead of the other way around." Hurt/Angst Sam and Angst/big bro Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this was originally supposed to be very lighthearted but it got pretty angsty. The beginning is kind of rambly, but please stick with it, it definitely gets better as it goes!
> 
> Requested by Shannanigans (at FF.net) for the first time Sam got drunk. So here you have it!
> 
> I don't own Supernatural or the song.

**Shattered**

_"In a way, I need a change from this burnout scene. Another time, another town, another everything. But it's always back to you" ~ Shattered – O.A.R._

It was the first time that it was Dean searching the bar for Sam instead of the other way around. It had been a blow out to top all blow outs. A fight to rule above all other fights. It was one that would stay imprinted in Dean's mind for many years to come.

Despite the tension and angst and generally shitty mood entangling the Winchester clan as of late, the day had started out good. When Dean awoke and found his brother and father eating quietly – peacefully – in the kitchen, he breathed an internal sigh of relief. Peacekeeping was no easy business, especially not when both people involved, stubborn, pig-headed morons that they were, were just too damn alike for anyone's good.

There was nothing worse, Dean had decided, than seeing the only two people in the world who mattered to him, going at it. Every outcome was a lose-lose because not everyone could win. And the loser would come to Dean to help lick the wounds. And that would pit him against the winner.

Eventually it'd have to end, and Dean was starting to get the picture of how it would all go down.

The day had been fine, everyone had acted civil enough. It wasn't exactly the Through Thick and Thin family attitude Dean would have liked best to see, but it would do for now. Research had been done, thoughts shared, and ideas formed. A plan was made and the day was done. Over a dinner of the good Colonel's fried chicken, casual talk had been made.

Then, very casually, Sam had mentioned possibly applying to some colleges. He wasn't sure if he would go, Sam rushed to say, but he just wanted to keep all his options open. Just in case. But of course John had taken it to the extreme, an extreme so extreme that even Sam himself probably hadn't even considered going that far. Ultimate betrayal, leaving the family for good, giving up hunting, giving up on their mother, and everything they'd worked for, their father went on and on. It was clear by the shock on the teen soon to be adult's face that none of that had been intended. Perhaps Sam had even expected to remain on good, friendly terms with his family. Perhaps hunt during breaks. But it was all or nothing with John Winchester and for the first time ever that policy was turned against Sam.

No, the only reason Sam wanted to go to college…was for Sam. Sam wasn't made for the hunting life, it was clear. He was good at it, but it didn't hold the same worth to him and he didn't hold the same passion for it. And, despite all his words of betrayal, Dean could sense the root of John's disagreement. For the first time, Sam would be out of their control, and, because of that, out of their protection.

But Dean had one more card in his hand than either Sam or John knew. Sam had underestimated Dean's knowledge of the normal world. John, of course, had fallen right into the trap, not realizing Sam was already one step ahead of them.

It was nearly the end of the school year, which meant applications were due long ago. And that meant that not only had Sam already applied, Sam had already been accepted.

No one knew Sam like Dean did and Dean knew Sam pretty damn well. He knew Sam wouldn't risk such a huge family blow out if it was possibly for naught. After all, why go through all the trouble of fighting family, a fight that was apparently going to be to the death, if he could only get accepted into, say, a community college? Sam's grades were good, certainly, great, really, but with their spotty schooling, he was missing certain standardized test scores, portfolio work, and things like that which might put him at a disadvantage. Not to mention, he could list no references or any community work. Which was pretty fucking ironic if you considered their line of work.

Not getting into a great college was possible, not hugely so, but large enough that Sam wouldn't be willing to risk his entire relationship with his family if he'd only end up going to some crap school and barely making ends meet. In fact, Sam had no steady income and no family saving accounts to fall back on, so Dean had to guess that Sam was gunning for a scholarship. Probably already had it, too. Dean knew Sam wouldn't risk all this just to not be able to afford college.

Yes, Dean knew Sam very well. He knew Sam's meticulous and thorough ways. They'd saved all their asses on more than a few hunts. And Dean knew Sam would plan this out to every tiny detail. Guarantee there was no way this couldn't work. He was willing to pay the price, no matter what it was, to get away from his family's life and into college. Which meant all the other details had to be ready by the time he was really and truly out on his own.

That scared Dean more than anything else. Even though John didn't realize it yet, they couldn't win this one. They couldn't hold Sam against his will and nothing short of that would stop him from going to college. John's approval, wonderful as it would have been to have it, didn't matter in the end, not enough to stop him anyway. Sam would go. Sam knew it. Dean now knew it too. And eventually John would have to realize.

It was the end, Dean realized. At least for now. John would not give an inch. It would be all or nothing. Stay or go. No half way. And Sam, with his meticulous planning and thorough scrutiny of all details, would go. Would walk out on them, out of hunting, and out of their lives, perhaps for good.

They would, of course, check on him now and then. Without his knowledge, most likely. But there wouldn't be a friendly reunion. At least not for a long time, and even then, Dean doubted it'd be friendly.

Dean had taken Sam to a bar several times. He'd had beer at home more times than that. But what Dean had gathered from thousands of irritated looks, sighs, eyerolls, and shoulder slumps, was that the bar scene, really wasn't Sam's scene. It was crowded and loud. Musty and dark. Suspicious and dirty. It was absolutely not Sam.

Sam was still a Winchester, though, and when the shit got too heavy, there was only one place he'd be found.

Sure enough, Dean spotted Sam's slumped figure sitting at the bar way in the back, next to the wall and furthest from the door. It was a good spot from a hunter's perspective, it meant you could see everything, including the door, and were fairly inconspicuous. But it was also a good spot for brooding and no one could brood like Sam Winchester fresh out of an argument.

Dean had given him an hour. From the minute Sam walked out of the motel room, glaring at the carpet as though it had caused all of his problems, Dean had started counting. An hour, he decided, was long enough to cool down but not long enough to clam up. That crucial point where you'd mulled it all over and hadn't yet gotten to the point of shoving it to the back of your mind where only you could see it.

There were two empty beers in front of Sam and one half full one currently rolling between his fingertips. That surprised Dean just a bit, because Sam Winchester had always been a real lightweight. His father had never let Sam have more than one beer because even after one he got just a tad bit silly. Not nearly drunk, just a wee tad buzzed. Who knew what would come after two and a half.

Sam's height (damn kid was growing way too fast for Dean's liking) had finally come to his advantage. Whether Sam hadn't been asked or had just lied believably enough, he'd ended up with alcohol, despite being nearly three years too young.

The din around him went completely over Dean's head as he zoned in on the brooding Sammy figure. Sam hadn't noticed him yet. Or, if he did, he didn't show it.

"This seat taken?" Dean asked as he would of a stranger, hoping Sam would give him one of his exasperated Sam faces. Silly as it sounded, Dean wanted nothing more than to see some tinny piece of Sammy still left in the brooding, deeply wounded, and far too-adult Sam before him.

Instead Sam said nothing, still staring at the rocking amber bottle as though it had all the answers to life's problems. Dean sighed and sat down. He looked over to his brother, taking in the haphazardly put on jacket, the untied shoe, everything that screamed I came here impromptu. The bags under his eyes and weariness in them that screamed life is being a bitch. Dean took it all in, as he took in every detail about Sam.

"Stop staring at me," Sam said suddenly, still not looking at Dean.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware you had erected a "don't look at me" zone," Dean bit back sarcastically.

"Yeah, well," Sam trailed off. Dean ordered a beer and began to drink it in silence. He imagined how pleasant the situation could have been if only they'd come under better circumstances. If it was just two brothers, having a good ole' time just hanging out and catching up.

When Sam was younger, Dean had been all powerful. He could calm the kid down and heal the kid up with just a hug. If Dean said it, it was law, and that put so many problems to rest. But it went the other way around too. Dean could make Sam talk when he didn't want to, he could get the kid to spill the secrectest of secrets. All it took was enough silence on Dean's end, and Sam would crack.

He wasn't a little kid anymore, though, and silence on Dean's end did not force Sam to start conversation to bridge the awkward gap between them. And a hug no longer held any magic medicine.

"You've already been accepted, haven't you?" Dean asked bluntly, deciding enough was enough. If Sam wasn't going to be the open little brother he'd always been, Dean wasn't going to be the patiently waiting big brother he'd always been. If Sam was going to close up, then Dean was just going to have to push harder.

The bitter half-smile Sam shot at him made him start to think that maybe Sam wasn't quite as sober as he first thought.

Dean knew that smile. He himself had worn that smile several times. It was the smile you wore when your opponent realized they'd just been hustled. It was an 'Oh, did I do that? Well that's just too bad for you' smile. Dean realized in a way, he too had been hustled. Sam had not underestimated Dean's understanding of the normal world, he knew Dean would figure it out. That he'd already been accepted.

As much as Dean knew Sam, Sam knew Dean. Sam knew that Dean would accept and allow Sam going. It wasn't Dean Sam had to fight on this, it was John. If it made Sam happy, though, he already had Dean's and they both knew it.

"Where?" Dean asked.

"Stanford." He frowned as his beer bottle before a truly nonchalant look crossed his features. "It's one of the top schools in the country. Maybe in the world. In the top fifteen at least."

Dean couldn't stop the tiny swell of pride in his chest. Because, seriously, that was pretty damn awesome. And not only had Sam done it all while still researching and hunting, but he'd done it all without any family support. He'd done it all on his own. Worked for the grades, took the tests, filled out the applications, all of it. And that was pretty damn impressive.

"I'm going to go, Dean," Sam said suddenly, like Dean had told him otherwise. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah, Sam, I know," he replied quietly. He did. God, how it hurt, but he knew. He was angry, betrayed, proud, and happy for Sam, but he knew.

"Screw Dad!" Sam said angrily, bringing the bottle down sharply on the bar countertop. A few people looked over in surprise but went quickly back to their business at Dean's glare. "I don' t need his damn approval," Sam growled. And he didn't.

Sam's shoulders sagged and his face dropped. "But it would have been nice…" Sam said quietly. "Because God forbid Dad be proud of me once in my goddamn life. Getting into Stanford…wasn't easy and then Dad just blows the whole thing to kingdom come." His eyes danced over to Dean for the first time that evening. "It doesn't have to be all or nothing. I'm not moving to fuckin' Timbuktu here, just college. I could still help you guys with research and maybe do some hunting with you during break. It's not like colleges don't have electricity. There are these newfangled things called phones and computers…"

"Sam," Dean sighed. His entire being screamed at him not to say the three words on his tongue, but his mind, where Sammy always came first, overruled. "You should go."

Sam's head turned to face him so fast Dean was afraid he'd fall of his stool. "What?"

It was shocking, even Dean felt it. But the fact of the matter was, alone or not, Sam would be pretty safe at college. Not only did Dean trust him to take precautions to protect himself from the supernatural, but if something were to happen, he would stand a much better chance than the average college Joe. It killed Dean that Sam wouldn't have someone to watch his back, but the fact that Sam wouldn't be actively searching out the supernatural clearly put him much higher on the safety scale. And if something were to happen that was over his head, Sam could always call them. Pissed or not, they would come. They would always come to Sam's call for help.

Even as Dean's mind was concocting plans to get a nine to five job on the Stanford school campus that he knew Sam would never agree to, Dean said, "It's clearly what you want. And I…I trust you to take safety measures," he felt like a parent telling his children to look both ways before crossing the street, "and be prepared. And to call for help if something's over your head," Dean stressed the last part. He bore the message into Sam with his eyes. (no matter how mad he is or how mad I am, Sam, we'll will drop everything and come. That's a promise.)

"You're seriously okay with this?"

"Absolutely not. It makes me want to wrap you up in bubble wrap and strap you in the Impala and just drive for the rest of eternity, but that's not real practical," Dean said before taking another sip of beer. "But I'll let you go if it's what you want," he said, trying very hard not to let this turn into a mother-of-all chick flick.

Dean knew, as every parent but John Winchester did, that their child, or in this case, brother, would eventually leave the nest and strike it out on their own. It was what Sam wanted, and in a way, needed.

And Sam came first.

"Thank you," Sam said honestly. He looked over his shoulder then said with a hesitant shrug, "Do you want to play some pool?"

Sam was either really drunk or just really wanted to maintain a good relationship with his brother despite college, because Dean was pretty certain Sam hated pool. The cheating good people, who for the most part, just wanted to have some fun and blow off some steam…gambling seemed to grate on his good conscience. Dean, however, felt it was just the Winchesters' way of collecting thanks from the world for all their hard work keeping it safe and not evil. A cosmic pay check if you would.

"Sure," Dean said, glad for the chance to relax and unwind with his brother. Just letting all their shit wait at the door and have an honestly good time.

It started as just Sam and Dean, but soon another pair of men walked up and the bet was started. Dean could tell by the look on Sam's face that this was to be an honest match, not a money scam. It was too late anyway, since they had already been playing when their challengers walked up.

Sam, though not nearly as good as Mr. Dean-hustler-champion-extraordinaire-Winchester, was not a bad shot at all and made several impressive moves.

Both the beer and the money were flowing and soon after the first game ended (Winchesters 1-0) a second one was started. Dean was all for getting totally wasted and having a good time at a bar, but he was starting to get a bit dismayed as he watched the three other players, Sam included, begin to leave the realm of rationality. All three began to play poorly and Dean began to feel a little bit let down winning so easily. He could see the frustration building in the taller of their opponents and he knew the fun had just ended.

"You're going down," the man growled harshly as he slammed his last hundred bucks down on the table. Dean thought that was pretty ballsy seeing as they had failed to pocket a ball on their last three shots.

Perhaps it was fight or flight instinct, but Dean badly wanted to walk away, knowing their opponents would no longer take losing in good stride.

And they didn't.

"You cheated," the shorter one snarled between his yellow teeth.

"We won fair and square and you dickwads know it," Dean said calmly.

"We want our money back." Rage and pride rose up in Dean and he narrowed his eyes. Any chance he had of walking away calmly was gone.

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding. You bet and you lost, the money is ours!" Of course, the first bet was three beers ago for Dean and who knows how many for them, but whether their drunk minds realized it or not, they volunteered the money up.

The tall man seemed to swell with anger and his fingers curled up. His cheeks flamed red and Dean could practically smell fight in the air. Dean prepared himself for the fight, letting his own fingers curl and muscles tighten in anticipation. Sam, apparently sensing the tension as well, took a much more suicidal approach.

"Hey," he said drunkenly. He stumbled in front of Dean, placing himself right between Dean and the furious men - right where Dean didn't want him to be – and said, "Look, Lobster-Head, we won that money fair and," he paused for a minute, clearly trying to remember the word in his drunk state, "rectangularly. So piss off and…go to your car," he said, blinking a few times. The man's red face got redder.

Oh, Jesus, Dean groaned mentally. Sammy.

Before Dean could realize just how big a whole Sam had dug, his brother's head flew sideways as the big man clocked him hard. Little blood droplets burst from the small cut on Sam's cheek as he stumbled backwards and fell, narrowly avoiding smacking his head on the pool table.

"Hey!" Dean roared, any excitement at a fight gone. Because no one messed with Sammy. The bartender could be heard shouting something, but it went ignored. Dean threw his own punch. The man sprawled backwards, landing in his friend's arms. The friend promptly dumped him on the ground before holding his hands up in surrender. Fueled with rage and adrenaline, Dean slammed the friend against the wall, placing his foot strongly on the downed man, just enough to hold him there.

"I suggest you leave right the fuck now," Dean said dangerously, his eyes flashing with threat.

"Okay, yeah, sorry, man," he said quickly and breathlessly as he dragged the man on the ground up and shoved him towards the door.

Dean turned back to Sam just as the younger Winchester hauled himself to his feet with the help of the pool table. Dean was right there in a second.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he turned Sam's chin left and right to make sure the cut was nothing major.

"Hey!" the bartender shouted, holding both the phone and a shotgun up threateningly.

"We're going," Dean assured him quickly. He scooped up the money, disgustedly wiping off the condensation from the beers, and dropped enough to pay his and Sam's bill before herding said brother out the door.

Watching a drunk man stumble could be mildly amusing as you yourself sat at the bar well on your own way there, enjoying the knowledge bliss was on its way. But it wasn't funny at all when it was Dean's eighteen year old brother stumbling with the uncertainty of first time drunkenness.

His chest ached with emotion as he watched Sam walk down the street, nearly over balancing several times. Every time Dean offered a hand to his struggling brother, Sam would bat it away and drunkenly say, "I'm independent now." Who would be there to threaten his opponent when someone messed with Sam at college? Who would be there to walk him home and make sure he wasn't hit by a damn car or something?

Dean hadn't brought the impala, just in case things didn't go well and neither brother ended up sober enough to drive. He could call John, he supposed, but he could see several problems with that. The most obvious one being John might not come. Sam getting what he deserved for getting drunk and all that. Then there was the unpredictability of a drunk Sam trapped in a small space with John. There was even the possibility John might attempt to use Sam's drunken state to his advantage and further pursue the argument while Sam's defenses were low.

"Sam, be careful," he snapped as he saw Sam nearly trip off the edge of the sidewalk another time. They had a few more blocks to go before they got to their motel building and Dean really wanted to get Sam there in one piece.

"Relax, Dean-o." He paused thoughtfully. "Dean-o. It sounds like dino. Dean-o the dino!" he said excitedly. Dean just glowered.

"For God's sake, Sam!" Dean cried as he grabbed his brother just in time to avoid a head-on collision with a lamppost. Dean loosened his hand on the back of Sam's jacket but continued to hold onto his shoulder.

"You worry too much, Dean-o," Sam said, the stench of alcohol clear on his breath at such a close proximity.

"Well clearly someone's got to do it for you seeing as you can't even walk in a goddamn line," he said exasperatedly, ignoring the little twinge in his heart at the words. Sam had always been a self-sacrificing moron with a too big heart and that made him care much too much about others. Which was okay because it was Dean's job to care for Sam when the idiot neglected his own health. But who would care for him at Stanford when Sam himself didn't?

Determined to get rid of the emotion building inside, Dean zoned in with the other problem in Sam's sentence and said with frustration, "And if you call me Dean-o one more time, I'm dumping your drunk ass in the alleyway for the stray dogs to have at."

Sam's eyes flew wide open and he clenched onto Dean with fear.

"No! I won't let the stray dogs have you!" he cried dramatically.

"It's you they're having, idiot, and get a move on," Dean said impatiently.

Getting Sam past John was easier than Dean thought. There were no disapproving glares, annoying questions, or serves him right quips. John looked up when they came in, Sam now leaning heavily on Dean (since he could no longer walk without falling on his own), then went back to his journal. Dean was disappointed and displeased to notice not a hint of concern on John's face at the little dried streaks of blood on Sam's cheek. After all, John didn't know what happened, perhaps Sam wasn't drunk at all and instead suffering from type of head wound.

The thing was, John trusted Dean to have already dealt with the problem and to deal with the aftermath easily and successfully. And while he had and could, and deserved every ounce of John's confidence in his ability to take care of Sam plus some, it still frustrated him. Because he, Dean, would never take it fully at someone else's word, not when it came to Sam. If someone, including Sam, said Sam was fine, well that was great, but Dean was still going to check for himself. John didn't check for himself, simply trusting Dean had it, whatever it was, under control.

And the other harsh truth was, if Dean was the one who was hurt, John would not trust Sam in the same way. He'd surely ask what had happened, confirm that for himself, and suggest he take over cleaning up any injuries Dean had.

For a second Dean understood every ounce of boiling hate Sam had in him. It was clear Sam still cared for his family, still loved them and would still die for them, but there was also hate churning away inside of him at every little injustice his father served. And it was because they were family that Sam allowed this anger to show so boldly.

In the bedroom – where Dean and Sam slept on two twin beds, John having claimed the pull out couch in the main room – Dean sat Sam down on the bed furthest from the door. Pleased with the scab already forming over the cut on his cheek, he wet a paper towel and carefully cleaned off the little bits of dried blood crusted around it. Sam's eyes were drooping and his head would have fallen forward onto his chest if not for Dean holding it firmly but gently upright.

Then Dean manhandled Sam into a cotton t-shirt and pants and got him into the bed. After covering his already slumbering sibling, Dean killed any thoughts of an emotional nighttime confession and ended the already tender moment by leaving for a shower.

And in the morning, when Sam curled up next to the toilet, Dean held his shaggy hair out of the way and brought him ginger ale and aspirin. John looked in only once, to confirm that the terrible retching he could hear was only a hangover, then went back to the paper and his coffee.

Once again struck with the thought of who would hold Sam's hair and bring him ginger ale and aspirin and look out for him while he was at Stanford, Dean sighed.

Sam would go. And Dean would hate every second his brother was gone, but he'd let him go, because that was what being a big brother was. Being there for the ups and downs, the scraped knees and straight A report cards, and being able to not be there when the younger sibling decided they needed to try out the ride of life for themselves. And Dean was nothing if not a good big brother.

But until that day came- and terror for the day when Sam made his plans clear to John because that was sure to be a fight to go in the history books – he would enjoy what he had left of his brother. He would take Sam out to bars and he would teach him pick-up lines that would make Sam roll his eyes. He would teach him to be sweet and kind with waitresses because sometimes they threw in a free piece of pie. And Dean would teach him the best way to drive the car to get the best mileage out of it. He would teach him how to live life and do the best damn job he could at it.

And Dean, destined for a shit life of hunting that he knew he could never escape, would be sound in the knowledge that he was responsible for the amazing person Sam would surely grow to be.

**Fin**


End file.
